


The World Is Full of People Named Smith and Jones

by Pony Girl (Jackjunkie)



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackjunkie/pseuds/Pony%20Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is full of people named Smith and Jones, and Heyes and Curry encounter a couple of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Is Full of People Named Smith and Jones

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Just You, Me and the Governor #8

Hannibal Heyes signed the hotel register with a flourish and wondered briefly how the clerk would react if he signed his real name. He pictured the astonishment, the fear, the admiration, the greed that would be called forth by such a celebrated moniker. The contrasting non-reaction to “Joshua Smith” would be reassuring but dull. There were times when being saddled with such an ordinary alias could be mind-numbingly tedious to a man who had until recently thrived on living life on the edge.

He reminded himself that he was trying to put those “exciting” days behind him. Not that he was toying with actually doing anything so foolhardy as revealing his identity, even to relieve the boredom. After all, he had no excuse for feeling bored; on the contrary, he’d just had more than enough excitement to last him at least a month.

That last posse that latched onto their trail had sure been a tenacious bunch. He and the Kid had finally had to split up to shake them. The tactic had worked and he’d telegraphed Curry as prearranged that it ought to be safe to meet up again. His partner should catch up with him here by tomorrow. Meanwhile he could use a little dull peace and quiet.

Heyes put down the pen and pushed the register back towards the clerk. The man handed him a key as he turned the book around to read the signature.

“Here you are, Mr. …” his tone changed abruptly from disinterested to startled and he clutched at the key in dismay, “…Smith!” The man looked up, a gamut of emotions chasing across his face. “You’re Mr. Smith?” he asked, gaping at Heyes as if disbelieving the evidence of his own eyes seeing the name written on the page before him.

“That’s right, Joshua Smith,” Heyes said easily, his senses immediately on the alert for trouble. He hadn’t expected to see his idle thoughts come alive in that immediate fashion. “Is there a problem?”

“No, of course not, Mr. Smith, no problem at all,” replied the clerk, nervously adjusting his spectacles. “It’s just that I seem to have given you the wrong key.” He placed the one he’d retrieved back on its hook and reached for another. “Yes, here you are, the best room in the hotel.”

“I’m not looking for anything fancy—couldn’t afford it,” Heyes candidly admitted. “One of your regular rooms is good enough for me.”

“Oh, no extra charge,” said the clerk. “Our primary concern is seeing to the comfort of our guests. We pride ourselves on catering to the, er, business traveler. Wouldn’t want to give you any cause for complaint. Please accept it as a gesture of our hospitality.”

“When you put it that way, how can I say no?” Heyes accepted the substitute key. “Much obliged.”

He made his way cautiously upstairs. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but the instincts that had kept him alive and out of the hands of the law for so many years would not let him ignore behavior so obviously not in keeping with the routine.

Arriving at his room, he fit the key in the lock and slowly turned the knob. Drawing his gun, he threw back the door. What he saw inside was… an unoccupied hotel room. A very nice room, it probably was the hotel’s best, but a room which contained nothing in any way threatening or suspicious.

Still, he did not let down his guard, but walked all around the room, checking everywhere. Satisfied at last upon finding nothing and no one sinister, he closed the door, flung his belongings in a corner, and stretched out on the bed to rest. He must be more tuckered out than he’d thought to get spooked by some poor fella just doing his job. He put it down to a combination of his tired fancies and the clerk’s naturally peculiar manner. As they said, it takes all kinds.

*****

Kid Curry was stretched out on the bed in his hotel room. He was just plumb beat after eluding that posse for so long. He figured he’d rest up for the afternoon and then mosey on over to the saloon come evening. Both he and his horse would then be fresh in the morning to travel to the town where he was to meet Heyes.

A commotion in the hall was interfering with his slumber, however. He tried his best to ignore it. He was usually capable of sleeping through any conditions. A pounding on his door, though, was too much even for his exceptional abilities.

“Jones! Mr. Jones!” someone was shouting.

The Kid cocked his eye at the window and wondered if that would be the better part of valor. On the other hand, they were using his alias. He decided to chance it.

Opening the door, he looked out into a raised fist and an irate face. The man halted in mid-shout, somewhat surprised at finally receiving a response to his summons. Recovering himself, “I’m looking for Mr. Jones,” he blustered.

“You found him,” answered the Kid laconically. “Something I can do for you?”

“Yes, you can pay your sister’s bill!” promptly answered the man at the door.

“Sister?” the Kid puzzled.

“That’s right. She said her brother would pay for the repair work on her gun, so I’m requesting payment. Now.”

The Kid scratched his head. “There must be some mistake,” he began pleasantly.

“I’ll say, and you’re the one that made it if you think you can welch on me,” the man stormed.

“Now hold on,” the Kid argued. “I can’t hardly welch on a sister I ain’t got.”

“Denied by my own flesh and blood! How can you say that?” dramatically pleaded a new voice.

For the first time the Kid noticed a third occupant in the hall. The indignant man obstructing his doorway had claimed all his attention, for ordinarily he would have been instantly aware of any member of the fair sex who appeared so distraught.

It was a fact that Kid Curry was somewhat susceptible to damsels in distress. Perhaps they sensed this in him and so naturally turned to him for help. Perhaps his easygoing nature just led them to take advantage of him. Or perhaps he was simply brought up to believe that a gentleman always helped a lady. In any case, whether a strength or a flaw, it was an ingrained facet of his character which could not be denied any more than he could deny breathing or sleeping or eating (which last would be a sore trial indeed). Heyes would say he had a talent for drawing a woman in trouble like a fly to honey.

Sure enough, once again here was trouble and here was a woman and here was the Kid. He looked into dove gray eyes in a heart-shaped face framed by a cloud of soft dark hair.

“Ma’am,” he nodded. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“If our sainted mama had lived to see this day…” she began in a trembling voice, her hands clasped beseechingly. From beneath lowered lids, she tried to gauge her effect on the two men. Adapting to what she perceived to be their skeptical reactions, she changed her strategy. “I mean, oh, of course,” she stumbled over her words. “Why, what a silly mix-up. This isn’t my brother at all.”

“Wait a minute, what’s going on here?” the gunsmith asked suspiciously. “You can’t pull the wool over my eyes. Someone’s got to pay this bill.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not going to be me,” said the Kid as he began to close the door. Whatever this female was up to, he decided to follow his partner’s advice for once and stay out of it. She seemed to be more the cause than the victim of the trouble.

“We’ll just see about that. I’ll get the law and see what they have to say about it.”

“Whoa, there, there’s no need to drag the law into this,” objected the Kid, hastily reopening the door. “Maybe we can come to some arrangement.”

“The only arrangement I want is this bill paid in full,” insisted the tradesman.

“I told you I don’t have the money,” said the young lady.

“How much are we talking about?” questioned Curry. “Maybe I could manage a loan.” Even Heyes would have to agree that the law was more trouble than a female.

He soon settled the bill and sent the man on his way. He then turned to the perpetrator of this scam.

“I’m truly sorry,” she promptly apologized with a beguiling smile. “When I told him my brother would pay, I had no idea there was another Jones staying at the hotel. Then when he found you, I just had to go along with my story. It’s just your bad luck you share my name.”

“Point is, you owe me fifteen dollars. Got any way of paying it back?”

“If I had the money, I would have paid him in the first place.”

“Do you always run up bills without any means of paying them?”

“I had to get my gun fixed or I wouldn’t have any means of earning any money at all.”

“What are you gonna do with the gun, hold up the bank?”

“I’m not a thief!” She seemed genuinely outraged.

“Just a liar and a swindler,” Curry qualified.

“I would have paid him tomorrow. He was being completely unreasonable about waiting. I was just trying to buy some time.”

“You still haven’t explained what a lady needs with a gun,” the Kid pointed out.

“Felicity Jones, Female Firearms Phenomenon, at your service. I’m a sharpshooter with Frontier Joe’s Western Jamboree and Carnival.”

“A carnival act? Well, that explains the talent for dramatizing. What kind of trick do you use to pass yourself off as a sharpshooter? Got a couple of marksmen hiding in the wings shooting behind you?”

“What makes you think I need any tricks?”

“No offense, ma’am, but you haven’t exactly given me any cause to take you at your word.”

She flushed but held her head high. “Come to the show tonight and I’ll prove what I can do. I’ll see you get a pass.”

“That still doesn’t get me my fifteen dollars. How handy are you with that thing really?”

“Handy enough to best you, I reckon.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“I would. In fact, I’ll bet you fifteen dollars.”

“You can’t even pay me the fifteen dollars you owe me now. How are you going to pay me double that?”

“You’re awfully sure you’re going to win. What makes you think I won’t clear my debt? If I don’t, you’ll hardly be worse off than you are now. Or are you afraid of being shown up by a woman?”

The Kid grinned. This woman had no idea who she’d be shooting against. Heyes always advised him to bet on a sure thing.

“All right. It’ll be worth it just to see you try. You’re on.”

The two left the hotel to find a more proper setting for a shooting match.

*****

Refreshed from his rest on one of the most comfortable beds he’d slept in in recent memory, Hannibal Heyes strolled into the saloon. It seemed as pleasant a place as any to pass the time while he waited in town for the Kid. He rested his elbows on the bar and surveyed the room. He could go for a little poker but was somewhat short of cash.

“What’ll you have?” asked a voice from behind him.

“Whiskey,” he ordered, turning around to face the bartender.

The man started to pour from a bottle close at hand, then paused and took a closer look at Heyes.

“Aren’t you the new guest over at the hotel? Mr. Smith?”

“That’s right,” Heyes admitted guardedly. Now what?

“I thought so. We keep something special for fellas like you.” He reached under the counter.

“That so?” Heyes began uneasily to back off.

“This is the good stuff, not like that rotgut,” the bartender said, producing a dusty bottle from beneath the bar. He poured out a glass. “Best in the territory.”

Heyes took a calming breath and stepped back to the bar. “Thanks, but I’ll just take a glass of the regular,” he said. “Gotta keep expenses down.”

“Oh, it’s on the house, Mr. Smith. Frankly, I’d value your opinion. We don’t often get a customer who would appreciate it.”

Heyes decided to accept the glass. No point insulting the proprietor.

“In that case, cheers.” He took a sip, savored the taste in pleased surprise, then downed the rest at a gulp. “That’s mighty fine whiskey,” he complimented.

“Have another,” the bartender urged.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He held out his glass for a refill.

“Hi, handsome. Mind if I join you?”

Red plumes clashed a bit with hennaed hair, but didn’t detract from the overall glamorous effect. She’d make a gorgeous ornament on any cowpoke’s arm. Heyes graciously tipped his hat.

“How do, ma’am. Joshua Smith.”

“Charmed, Mr. Smith. I’m Isabella, but you can call me Belle. All the boys do.”

“Pleased to meet you, Belle.”

“Honey, not half as pleased as I am to meet you.”

Heyes grinned. The evening was looking up. This sure was a friendly town.

*****

Kid Curry and Felicity Jones wandered over to the carnival tent, which had been set up on the edge of town. It was small and dilapidated, but the faded colors looked as if they had been jaunty once. Curry tried to picture the stands filled with folks having a good time, but right now they were deserted and a little forlorn-looking. A slight figure propelled a broom industriously about the far end of the tent.

“Johnny!” Felicity called to him.

The boy looked up and waved. He dropped the broom without hesitation and ran over to them.

“Howdy, Miss Felicity,” he greeted her eagerly. “Didja want me for something?”

“Johnny, this is Mr. Jones. Johnny helps out with just about everything around here, including my act. We couldn’t get along without him.”

“Howdy, Johnny,” Curry smiled.

“Are you kin to Miss Felicity?” Johnny inquired, shaking Curry’s hand.

“No, nothing like that. Just happen to have the same name is all. The world is full of people named Jones, or so I’m told.”

“Mr. Jones and I are going to have a little shootin’ match,” Felicity explained. “Would you help us out with the targets? Just like you do in the show. You know what to do.”

“Sure, Miss Felicity. I know.” He ran out to the center of the ring.

Felicity looked over at Curry. “Johnny will toss up the clay disks we use for targets,” she said. “We’ll draw and fire one round. Just hit as many as you can.”

“I think I can handle that,” Curry agreed.

She waved to Johnny to signal him to begin. He started to toss up the disks.

Now the typical scenario when Kid Curry was involved in a fast-draw contest went something like this: he drew and shot before the other person even cleared leather, then generally had ample leisure to observe his opponent gawking in amazement at the spectacle of his lightning speed.

That didn’t exactly happen this time.

The Kid was fast enough to beat Felicity to the draw, but just barely, and it didn’t seem to faze her in the least. Targets exploded into bits of dust two at a time as Johnny tossed up one pair after another as fast as he could to keep up with the rapid succession of shots from both guns. When the round was over, it was quite apparent that every bullet had found its mark.

Curry was impressed. He had seen very few men who came close to being as fast as he was, and never a woman anywhere near that fast, not to mention her dead-on accuracy as well. He pushed his hat back with one finger and looked at her with respect.

“Pretty fair shooting,” he observed.

“You could do some braggin’ on your own,” she replied. “I don’t recall seeing faster.”

“Guess it was good enough to win our bet,” he allowed. “You now owe me thirty dollars.”

“Reckon you’ll have to wait for it. We should take in a good haul from the show tonight. Maybe we can make enough side bets to make up the difference.”

“Plucking the pigeons? Felicity, I knew you had larceny in your soul.”

“Not at all. Just sense enough to take advantage of my talent.”

Johnny ran up to them, all excited and trying to talk and catch his breath at the same time.

“That was some shootin’! He’s good as you, Miss Felicity. He should be in the show! You sure you ain’t kin?”

They laughed. The Kid ruffled Johnny’s hair and asked, “How about you? You going to shoot in the show someday?”

“I sure aim to try!” the boy exclaimed fervently.

After a few more minutes of talk, Felicity sent the boy back to his chores, and Mr. and Miss Jones began to stroll back towards town.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” the Kid asked her curiously.

“Been doin’ it all my life. Just took to it naturally.” She considered him a moment. “Johnny had the right idea back there, you know. You ever thought about joining the circuit?”

“You mean shooting in a show? In front of people? Naw, I wouldn’t be any good at that. I shoot when I have to. I never sell my gun.”

“This wouldn’t be exactly like gunslinging,” she objected. “Stick around, watch the show tonight, and think about it. You’d be a sensation.”

“I’m not interested in the job, but I will stick around. It’s not often I get a chance to watch a woman shoot as fancy as all that.”

*****

Heyes regarded the poker game wistfully. He had barely enough for the ante. Belle was providing a fair measure of consolation, but there was no denying the call of the cards. There was also no denying that there was no way he’d get in the game without a minimal stake with which to bet.

The players noticed his interest. They began talking amongst themselves in low tones. One seemed to object to something, but the others voted him down. They turned towards Heyes and waved him over.

“Won’t you join us, Mr. Smith?” one of them suggested.

“I appreciate the invite, gentlemen,” Heyes responded regretfully, “but I’m a little short of cash at the moment.”

“Why, we’d be happy to extend you credit, wouldn’t we, boys?”

There was a general murmur of agreement. The same holdout as before looked mutinous, but when nudged by one of the others he added his assent.

“Credit?” Heyes was amazed. Credit was never offered to a stranger at a poker game. It simply was not done.

“Your marker’s good with us, Mr. Smith,” another of the men added.

Heyes approached the table, Belle in tow. He was not at all worried about running up a debt he couldn’t pay off. In fact, he had no doubt he could win enough to make it a profitable evening. A small profit—it wouldn’t do to overly abuse his hosts’ hospitality.

“Gentlemen,” he smiled,” deal me in.”

*****

Curry enjoyed the show enormously, mostly due to Felicity’s act. Besides the clay disks, she shot cards right out of Johnny’s hand, she shot targets on a spinning wheel, she shot the flames off burning candles. She was as good with a rifle as she was with the twin six-guns she wore.

“You ever thought about maybe joining a bigger show?” he asked her afterwards. “You’re really too good for such a smalltime operation.”

“I aim to try out for something bigger first chance I get. Meanwhile, this pays the bills, if not always on time. Speaking of which… thirty dollars even.” She handed him the money.

“A lady of honor—ya musta fleeced some poor sucker good.” Nevertheless, the Kid accepted the payment without hesitation.

“Let’s just say he’ll be a little leery of trying to put something over on a poor, unsuspecting female in the future.”

Curry snorted. “More likely he was afraid you’d come after him with some of that fancy shooting you just displayed. I’ve never seen anything to beat it.” He’d never in his life seen a woman who could handle a gun like she could, which earned her his admiration as a colleague of sorts.

“Sure you won’t reconsider about joining the show? We’d make a great team—Jones and Jones,” she wheedled.

“I admit you make it sound tempting, but I already got a partner and I just don’t fancy the line of work.” That’s all he needed—to get up in public and show off his fast draw. Every lawman in the territory would be onto him in no time. Not to mention what Heyes’ reaction would be.

Felicity moved closer. “I still say we’d make a great team,” she purred softly.

A heady scent tickled Curry’s nostrils. She smelled like a mixture of flowers and gunpowder. From the soft waves of her hair to the soft curves of her form to her soft velvet voice, she was an inviting armful. He gazed into her eyes, gray like a misty day or like the smooth coat of a mare he once had.

“There’s teams and there’s teams,” he murmured. “Maybe it don’t have to be a work team we’d be good at.” He leaned down and kissed her lips, soft and warm as he’d guessed they’d be.

*****

Heyes slept till noon. He expected the Kid to arrive sometime that afternoon, so there was no rush about getting up. He didn’t often have a chance for a little lazy indulgence.

He finally dressed and headed out to a little café he’d noticed for some lunch—he could hardly call it breakfast at that hour. He was crossing the street when he was stopped by a determined voice calling his name.

“Mr. Smith! I been waiting on you.”

Heyes turned to see who had addressed him and saw a man wearing a sheriff’s badge standing at the edge of the otherwise deserted street. Funny he hadn’t noticed till that moment how empty the town was. He had just thought it seemed nice and peaceful.

Hannibal Heyes was never comfortable in the presence of the law, but he had no specific reason to be worried about this particular lawman so he tried to relax and appear at ease.

“Something I can do for you, Sheriff?” he asked pleasantly.

“Don’t play games with me, Smith,” the sheriff warned.

“Games? I wouldn’t dream of it, Sheriff.”

“Fine. Why don’t we get this over with, then.”

“I’m not quite sure I understand what you’re getting at,” Heyes replied uneasily. He didn’t like the trend of the conversation.

“I’ll spell it out for you then,” the sheriff obligingly declared. “You’re gunning for me. You know it, I know it, the whole town knows it. Here I am.” The sheriff walked slowly into the center of the street to face Heyes.

“Sheriff, there’s some kind of mistake,” Heyes protested.

“That’s right and you made it,” the sheriff said. “You expected me to run scared from your reputation, like everyone else in this town. I may not outgun you, but I can at least make you earn your money.” He planted his feet and lifted his chin defiantly.

Things were starting to click into place. Could that be why everyone was falling over backwards to accommodate him—they thought he was some sort of gunfighter? It didn’t sound like it had anything to do with recognizing his true identity. Something else must be going on here.

Heyes was careful to hold his hands out in plain view so the sheriff could see he wasn’t going for his gun. Then he called his charming smile and silver tongue into play.

“Sheriff, I have not the slightest desire to draw down on you. I expect I wouldn’t even know how. Yes, I wear a weapon but I never use it. Don’t believe in it. I am not a hired gun.”

“You wear your gun tied down like a gunfighter.”

“Oh, is that what that means?” Heyes glanced innocently at his holster. “I’ll tell you the truth, Sheriff,” and he gazed confidentially into the lawman’s eyes, “I’m a city man and ordinarily I don’t even wear a gun. I thought I’d need to on this business trip, though; it seems to be the common practice around these parts. I just imitated the way I saw a fellow wear his. It don’t mean a thing.”

The sheriff was beginning to look uncertain. “Your name’s Smith, ain’t it?”

“Yes, sir, Joshua Smith at your service. Mechanical apple peelers are my game.”

“How’s that?”

“Mechanical apple peelers. I sell them. Wonderful invention, mechanical apple peelers. The housewife’s best friend. I wouldn’t make an apple pie without one. The west will soon be flooded with them. And I’m the one who’ll do the flooding.” Heyes beamed proudly over his projected accomplishment.

The sheriff looked thoroughly confused. “I was expecting a gunfighter named Smith.”

“Why, Sheriff, the world’s full of people named Smith. I’m just not the Smith you’re looking for.”

“You don’t strike me as the man I’ve heard about, that’s true. I’d sure like to know what happened to that Smith, though. It just don’t figure, him runnin’ from a fight. Not when he’s been paid, like we all heard he had.”

“That’s right, Sheriff. It _don’t_ figure.” A third voice joined the conversation.

Heyes and the sheriff turned in surprise to face a newcomer astride a horse. He leaned on the pommel and regarded them hostilely. So intent had they been on their discussion that they hadn’t even heard him ride up.

*****

Two more riders were headed into town just then. Kid Curry and Felicity Jones had ridden ahead of the wagons bringing all the show’s paraphernalia. Curry had been pleased to learn he would have the pleasure of Felicity’s company for another day since they were travelling toward the same destination. He didn’t even mind putting up with her unceasing attempts to persuade him into joining the troupe.

The deserted feel to the streets alerted him to be on the watch, so he caught sight of the three tense figures in the street well before they were close to them. He pulled up his horse and signaled to Felicity to do the same.

He watched for a moment, then put his finger to his lips to indicate silence and rode down a side alley, beckoning to his companion to follow. Puzzled, she acquiesced.

The Kid dismounted and hitched his horse to a handy rail. Felicity followed suit. On foot they moved in to a spot where they could listen unobserved.

*****

Heyes was trying to explain the mix-up. The newcomer named Smith regarded him from horseback.

“I don’t take kindly to those as poaches off my reputation,” he commented.

“Oh, it wasn’t like that at all, no indeed. A simple misunderstanding, could have happened to anybody,” Heyes insisted in a hearty, “we’re all friends here” sort of tone.

“All the same, the damage has been done. I can’t have you goin’ around, gettin’ away with that. Wouldn’t look right. Have to set an example. I’ll deal with you next. First though,” and he swung his leg over the horse and lowered himself to the ground with a creak of leather, “I’ll oblige the sheriff here. Paid business before personal.”

Heyes’ mind worked furiously. He had to put a stop to this gunfight. Any way it worked out, he’d be in trouble. If the lawman won, he’d drag Heyes in as a witness, and there was no way his alias would stand up to a legal investigation. If this Smith killed the sheriff (as seemed more likely) and then took a turn at Heyes, chances were he’d kill Heyes as well. Heyes was good with a gun and could hold his own in an ordinary gunfight, but he’d be fooling himself to think he was good enough to beat a professional gunslinger. The Kid was, of course, but that was neither here nor there, the Kid not being present at the moment.

Unbeknownst to Heyes, the Kid, who was indeed present, was sizing up the scene and coming to pretty much the same conclusions as his partner. It looked like he was going to have to step in. It was bound to be messy, though, no matter what happened, and he never relished having to kill a man. Going up against a professional, there was a good chance of it coming to that.

He told Felicity to stay put, but she had other ideas.

“You don’t want to fight this galoot, I can tell.”

“I got no choice,” said Curry grimly.

“Maybe you do,” she countered. “How about if I go up against him? Kind of put my show into action. He’d never live down being bested by a woman, and you know I can do it. He’d be a laughingstock; his reputation would be ruined. And everyone would get out of this alive.”

The Kid considered her suggestion. She was undoubtedly a good enough shot, but… “You ever been in an actual gunfight?” he asked skeptically. “It ain’t like shooting clay targets.”

“Not exactly, but I have no intention of allowing this to turn into a real gunfight. I know how to run a show my way. Just leave it to me.”

She ducked out from the alley. The Kid squashed his momentary impulse to stop her. His natural chivalrous instincts were against this, but he knew this was their best chance. He decided to watch developments. He could always step in if need be.

Smith and the sheriff were facing one another; Heyes had moved off to the side. He hadn’t given up trying to talk them out of it, but he was having no effect. They were measuring each other, weighing their options, preparing to draw.

A bullet sang out and spat into the dust between the opponents. Both men whirled, drawing their guns and aiming them, not at each other, but at the source of the interruption. They froze in amazement upon seeing Felicity.

She, however, went into action. She now had an audience and she knew what to do with one of those.

She shot a ring of bullets encircling Smith’s feet. Little puffs of dirt floated around his boots. He was smart enough, or stunned enough, not to move.

Felicity twirled her empty gun with aplomb and holstered it. She drew her second gun and cooly shot Smith’s gun out of his hand. He reached for it and she shot it farther out of reach. He foolishly reached a second time and felt the sting of her third bullet graze past his fingers. As he was bent over, a handkerchief sticking out of his back pants pocket presented an irresistible target so she shot the tip off that, bringing him upright in a hurry as he clapped his hands to his rump in alarm. Then she shot his hat off for good measure.

She didn’t holster this gun. Keeping it aimed directly at Smith, she told him, “I have one shot left. I think I’ve demonstrated that I can put it where I aim. It’s up to you whether it goes in you or not.”

Townsfolk who had been peering from behind curtained windows began to venture out to get a closer look at the strange sight. There were plenty of witnesses to the feared gunfighter’s ignominious downfall. Felicity was pleased with her display.

People cheered. Smith, helpless and furious, glared at her and at the spectators. The sight of him no longer had the power to strike terror, however, and folks began to laugh at him. When the sheriff invited him to leave town, he slunk away without an argument.

Heyes felt a surge of immense relief and gratitude to this unusual young lady. He was about to go thank her when he saw his partner appear seemingly from nowhere and approach her.

“I might have known,” he said in resignation. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to see what kind of trouble you get up to when I’m not around to watch your back. Joshua, it’s my great pleasure to present the best lady gunslinger in the west, the Female Firearms Phenomenon, Miss Felicity Jones.”

“Jones!” Heyes exclaimed and looked thoughtfully after the retreating Smith.

“Well, Joshua, you always say the world is full of people named Smith and Jones.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that we’d meet up with a couple of the more lively specimens,” Heyes mused. “Ma’am, you don’t know how pleased I am to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. I must say, you and Thaddeus make things pretty lively as well.”

“Us? Oh no, we usually lead very dull existences.”

Felicity tucked her hand into Heyes’ arm and looked earnestly at him with those soft gray eyes.

“Then you must let me tell you how you can liven them up,” she entreated. “Have you ever heard of Frontier Joe’s Western Jamboree and Carnival…”

The Kid watched them with a grin. Yep, you sure had to watch out for those plain ol’ Smith’s and Jones’s. The world was full of people who were just plumb full of surprises.

THE END


End file.
